


Better Together

by ghostystarr



Series: Much Ado About Miya [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Miya Four, Post-Time Skip, Slice of Life, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostystarr/pseuds/ghostystarr
Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's current concern: Atsumu drunkenly proposed to him with a Twinkie, and he said yes.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Much Ado About Miya [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001193
Comments: 115
Kudos: 678
Collections: SakuAtsu Fics for Midterm Procrastination, sakuatsu lol screaming, ~SakuAtsu~, → sakuatsu because im lonely





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pancake_surprise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_surprise/gifts).



> For @pancake_surprise - thank you for comforting me when I accidentally write a giant sakuatsu wedding fic in the wee hours of the morning instead of the sunaosa I was supposed to write. (They're on their way.)

“I think yer the one,” Atsumu says one late November morning. They’re sitting at the table with breakfast between them. Snow frosts the windows and early Christmas commercials play on the TV. Atsumu has a blanket wrapped around him as he picks at his pancakes, syrup dripping off his fork and making a mess on his plate. It’s an otherwise unremarkable moment, with nothing prompting Atsumu’s blunt declaration, yet it’s said with such certain conviction that Kiyoomi’s fork stills in mid-air.

He surveys Atsumu’s smirk and hooded eyes like a poker player searching for his opponents’ usual tells and finds none of them. He waits for the follow-up joke or a throw-away sarcastic comment, but Atsumu just finishes his mouthful and adds, “I’m deadass,” which is somehow better and worse than he expected.

Kiyoomi hasn’t recovered enough to form a response, but his smile and warm cheeks seem to deliver one anyways. Atsumu smiles back and they return to their meal, listening to the low hum of Christmas carols and car advertisements in the early morning.

It’s only as they start cleaning up the kitchen that the words truly sink in. Atsumu steps around him to rinse the dishes off in the sink, blanket still draped over his shoulders like a cape. On their days off, Atsumu often leaves his hair unstyled and has to blow it out of his eyes constantly. He looks young and comfortable. Like he belongs there.

Kiyoomi grabs a towel and stands beside him, wordlessly offering a hand. Atsumu passes a clean plate for him to dry.

“You’re it, too, you know,” he says. Atsumu’s attention snaps to him, but Kiyoomi just keeps wiping the ceramic even though it’s already completely dried.

Atsumu’s laugh fills his home with something warm all the way up to the ceilings. It sounds nervous but happy, and Kiyoomi can hardly recall what sounds filled the apartment before they began dating. “Then ya should probably clear a drawer for me already. Not that I don’t like wearing yer clothes when I stay over, but I haven’t been back at my place for… four days now? I miss wearin' pants that fit."

Kiyoomi hums. He places the plate into the cupboard. “Which drawer do you want?”

One drawer becomes two. Then the closet gets divided in half. There’s suddenly a coffee maker on Kiyoomi’s kitchen counter. Hair products appear on the bathroom sink. There’s an extra toothbrush next to his and a new pair of slippers by the door. And, most notably, Kiyoomi adds a shiny brass key to Atsumu’s set, right next to his Vabo-chan keychain. Atsumu stops going to his apartment, and Kiyoomi stops worrying about what it sounds like.

For once, they don’t overthink it. Atsumu forfeits his old lease, and Kiyoomi simply calls his own landlord and faxes him a lease amendment with Atsumu’s squirrely signature beside his own.

“I’m thinkin’ pizza,” Atsumu says from the couch as Kiyoomi glares down at him. “Or… maybe Thai.”

Kiyoomi kicks a cardboard box on his living room floor. “You’re not eating anything until you clean these up. Did you seriously have to bring all these old DVDs?”

“These are cherished memories!” Atsumu huffs as he sits up. “Our high school games, Omi-Omi. I didn’t wanna leave them behind.”

Kiyoomi sighs and runs a hand down his face. It’s taking a lot of self-control to not be freaking out about what could be growing inside these dusty boxes. “Remind me why I let you move in?”

“Cheaper bills, faster commute to the gym for me,” Atsumu counts the reasons off on his fingers, “and, of course, more opportunities to tell me how good I look in the mornings.”

Kiyoomi replies by kicking his slipper at him, and Atsumu gives a shout that dissolves into a laugh.

They settle for Thai food, and spend their evening eating noodles while watching Atsumu’s recordings of their high school volleyball matches. "Wait, wait!” Atsumu points at the TV with a chopstick. “Here comes the best part!"

Sixteen year old Miya Atsumu dumps the ball over the net, and it lands in front of Sakusa Kiyoomi's feet.

Kiyoomi huffs. "You won the set, but we won the match."

"I'll never forget the look ya gave me after that.” Atsumu sighs happily. “So pissed off."

“You know I can still have locks changed, right?” he asks, glaring at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye.

Atsumu slurps a noodle into his mouth. “My name’s on the lease now. Yer gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart.” Kiyoomi snorts and half-heartedly tosses a napkin at him. Less because of Atsumu being a brat and more because he’s a messy eater. As Atsumu wipes his mouth, his face goes abruptly serious. “Hey, Omi?”

“Hm?”

“I should probably tell my brother that we moved in together.”

Kiyoomi is a little confused at Atsumu’s wistful expression, but he nods. “We can go this weekend if you’d rather do it in person.”

Atsumu smiles. “Yeah, I wanna see the look on his face.”

If there were any doubts about living with Atsumu, their first week under the same roof wipes them away. Atsumu’s constant presence inevitably raises Kiyoomi’s guard, and he finds himself scrubbing counters and vacuuming twice as often. Atsumu just grabs a sponge and a bucket and ties a bandana around his hair. “Where next?” he asks.

Kiyoomi points at the bathroom. “The shower.”

Minutes later, he hears Atsumu’s eclectic taste in music echo against the shower tiles. Sometimes Atsumu fills their home with too much noise, but Kiyoomi keeps his mouth shut. A singing Atsumu is considerably easier to handle than a grumpy one.

“You know I don’t expect you to do things like this,” Kiyoomi tells him after Atsumu reports that he’s finished. “It’s not like I think _you’re_ dirty or something.”

Atsumu puts his hands on his hips. “I know, but it’s my home now, too, right? Let me help sometimes.” He smiles. “We’re not teammates on just the court anymore.”

Kiyoomi surveys the glistening tiles with an ache in his heart that he can’t quite discern.

“Uh, Omi? Ya’ve gone all sparkly again.”

Kiyoomi kisses him right in their little bathroom with the smell of bleach still clinging to Atsumu’s clothes and Britney Spears’s _Circus_ blaring out of Atsumu’s bluetooth speaker.

When they arrive at Onigiri Miya that weekend, Atsumu breaks the news with no small amount of fanfare. “Samu, my dear brother!” he sings as he drops onto a stool. “Ya might wanna sit down for this.”

“If yer not gonna finally admit to blowin’ up my toaster last time ya stayed over, then I’m not interested.”

Atsumu shakes his new keys above his head. “Omi and I moved in together. Isn’t that great?”

Osamu’s attention slides to Kiyoomi and, when he doesn’t dismiss Atsumu’s claim, his eyes widen. “Moving in? Together? When?” He shakes his head, utterly confused. “How long have ya been datin’ again?”

“We already moved in together,” Atsumu corrects. “My lease was nearly up, and Omi-kun built a very strong case.”

“And it’s been almost seven months,” Kiyoomi interjects. “Why?”

Osamu frowns. “Nothing. It’s just… That’s a little fast, ain’t it?”

Atsumu and Kiyoomi exchange glances. “Is it?” they ask each other simultaneously.

“I guess I’m glad yer finally outta that matchbox, at least.” Osamu sighs. He puts his hands on his hips. “But, Sakusa, as someone who had to share a room with this asshole for eighteen years, I feel like it’s my duty to warn ya. He’s a terrible roommate.”

Kiyoomi nods. “Noted.”

“I’m serious. He steals all yer clothes.”

Kiyoomi considers this. “He looks good in them.”

“He’ll eat all yer food.”

“We split the grocery bills so they’re technically his, too.”

“And he _never_ cleans up after himself.”

“He’s pretty tidy, actually.”

Atsumu sticks out his tongue at Osamu, who glares back like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. Kiyoomi picks up his onigiri and mentally blocks out the ensuing argument between the twins as he eats.

“Then just tell Sunarin ya’d rather live together!” Atsumu explodes when Kiyoomi checks back in. “It’s not my fault yer both too dumb to communicate even though ya’ve been dating since _high school.”_

“Were it not for potential witnesses,” Osamu mutters, pointing his rice paddle at Atsumu, “I’d destroy you. Toaster killer.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu’s hands wrangle the air between them, “I didn’t touch yer stupid toaster!”

“Can I have another ume onigiri?” Kiyoomi interrupts, which seems to placate Osamu’s mood entirely and amuse Atsumu, who leans back and watches as Osamu and Kiyoomi start talking about pickled plums.

As the sun begins to set, Kiyoomi nudges Atsumu with his elbow. “We should probably get going. Practice in the morning and we still need to stop for some groceries.”

“Yeah, okay.” Atsumu reaches for his coat. “Seriously, Samu, just tell yer boyfriend ya wanna live with him.”

“Stop actin’ so cocky.” Osamu flares up. “It was annoying when we were kids, and it’s even more annoying now.”

“What the hell?” Atsumu shouts back. “I was bein’ nice, ya jerk!” Kiyoomi places a hand on Atsumu’s lower back and guides him toward the doors before another fight can break out.

“We’ll see you next week.” Kiyoomi raises a hand in farewell to Osamu.

Osamu huffs. “Good luck, Sakusa.”

Atsumu sticks his tongue out before the door swings shut.

They’re halfway to the grocery store when Kiyoomi realizes Atsumu hasn’t said a single word. Kiyoomi taps his arm. “Can you pull up our list?”

“Do I annoy you?” Atsumu asks suddenly. The wind is so strong that Kiyoomi wouldn’t have heard him if they weren’t standing so close. “Honestly.”

Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose at the question. He’s not sure where this negativity is stemming from, but it doesn’t suit Atsumu. “You’re acting stupid,” he answers, because overthinking things and overreacting to them is Atsumu’s specialty. “Stop.”

Atsumu looks away, but says nothing else. Kiyoomi checks the shopping list on his own phone instead. The store is slightly busier than usual, and he double-checks that Atsumu has his mask on as well before grabbing a basket. Usually, Atsumu starts begging the moment they pass the bakery display in the front, tugging at Kiyoomi’s sleeve with pleading puppy eyes. But, today, he’s quiet. He simply grabs what’s on the list and throws it into the basket without contest. Kiyoomi even adds a box of Twinkies to elicit a reaction, but only gets the cold shoulder.

Atsumu swipes his credit card at the self-checkout station before Kiyoomi can get his wallet, but leaves him to carry most of the bags. Kiyoomi huffs and follows him out of the store.

They don’t fight often. They bicker, sure, but that usually ends with one or both of them unable to hide their humor. When they do fight, it’s ugly and quiet and Kiyoomi hates it. He senses the argument as they walk, sees it in the hard lines of Atsumu’s face and the stiff tension in his shoulders. Kiyoomi isn’t entirely sure what’s set Atsumu off this time, and he finds himself irritated at the dramatics by the time they arrive home.

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi asks once they’re inside. Atsumu doesn’t reply. He kicks off his shoes and all but throws them into the closet. “Atsumu, don’t be a kid.”

Atsumu bristles at that. “Just leave me alone.”

“What?” Kiyoomi frowns. This may be the first time he’s ever heard Atsumu brush him off. “What’s the matter with you?”

Atsumu scoffs. “If ya seriously need me to spell it out then maybe _yer_ the stupid one.”

“Oh.” Kiyoomi sets the bags on the counter. “So that’s it.”

“Why d’ya say it like ya just figured out a math problem?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Never mind.” Atsumu runs his hand down his cheek. “Just… forget it.”

Kiyoomi tilts his head to the side. “Are you upset with me or not?”

“I’m not,” he hisses through his teeth.

“Then why are you upset now?”

“I’m _not!”_

Kiyoomi still isn’t good at this. He’s much better at communicating his emotions now than when they first started dating. Atsumu’s clinginess and Kiyoomi’s need for space were constantly at odds so it was, simply put, a dumpster fire. But, little by little, they learned how to let the other in. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and tries again. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I said you were _acting_ stupid.”

Atsumu turns away. “Is there a difference?” When Kiyoomi doesn’t have a response quickly enough, he scoffs. “Ya know what? I’d rather act stupid than act like I know everything all the time, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi blinks rapidly, feeling a bit struck as Atsumu puts the groceries away. He slams the bread drawer shut with force, and Kiyoomi winces. For the first time he can recall, he doesn’t like the distance between him and another person. He takes a moment, watches Atsumu fume around the kitchen, and mulls over his next attempt at an apology. “Um,” he mumbles eloquently.

Atsumu shoves a box of cereal on top of the fridge and waits.

“You’re not annoying.” He tangles his fingers together nervously. “Why would I ask you to move in if I thought that? Or date you, even? And,” he clears his throat, “uh, I know I’m not that great at talking, but I’m a lot better now. And that’s mostly because of you. So.” He manages to push out the words, albeit it feels like he’s getting teeth pulled. “I’m sorry. I don’t like when you doubt yourself, so my first thought was to shut it down. That’s all.”

The silence gets heavier until Kiyoomi can’t stand it. Just as he’s about to break and start groveling, Atsumu’s stony exterior crumbles. “Dammit. It’s hard to be mad at ya when ya make that face.” Kiyoomi isn’t sure what face he’s making, but he’s glad he is because Atsumu kills that ugly distance between them and tucks himself into Kiyoomi’s side. “But, for the record, I’m still mad.”

“Okay.”

“Like, ya should cook me something really good.”

“Whatever you want.” He thinks for a moment. “But nothing junky. You’ve been going a little hard on the pizza lately, and we’re mid-season.” And the stony expression comes right back. Kiyoomi curses himself as Atsumu promptly detaches from his side and goes to the living room. “Wait.” He was so close. “No.”

“Better be a _damn_ good meal, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi reaches for his apron.

After dinner, though he can tell Atsumu enjoyed it thoroughly by the number of helpings he piled onto his plate, Atsumu still plays hard to get. He sits on the couch and pretends not to hear Kiyoomi’s attempts at flattery. “I like your hair today,” he tries. “Did you do something to it?” 

Atsumu turns up the volume on the TV, but he looks like he’s fighting a smile. Kiyoomi decides to call his bluff. "Fine," Kiyoomi heads for the hallway, "sulk all you want. I'm going to bed."

Atsumu stays seated.

Kiyoomi pads back into the living room. "I'm serious. I'm going to sleep now." He goes back toward their bedroom, glances over his shoulder, and when Atsumu still isn't following him he automatically shuffles to the living room again. "Here I go. All alone."

Atsumu raises his eyebrows, head tilted as if extending a challenge.

Kiyoomi leaves. Pokes his head back around the corner. And he certainly does not pout. "Atsumu."

“Hm?”

He groans. “Will you just come with me already? Please?”

Atsumu finally cracks a smile. "Why? Can’t my Omi-Omi can't sleep without me?"

"Forget it. Bye."

This time, Atsumu clambers down the hall after him, laughing all the way, and Kiyoomi feels the tension disappear between them as they fall into bed.

"Don't call me Sakusa anymore," Kiyoomi mutters as Atsumu settles into the covers. "It's just weird when you say it."

Atsumu beams. "If ya don’t like yer last name anymore, I can always give ya mine."

“Ugh.”

Atsumu chuckles, flips onto his back, and adds, very seriously, “I think I might really hafta buy Samu a new toaster.”

“You broke it, didn’t you?”

“Not on purpose!”

Kiyoomi hits him lightly with a pillow. "Go to sleep."

When he wakes up, his head is on Atsumu’s shoulder. They’re a tangle of limbs and sheets, but the early sun softens Atsumu’s face like an oil painting. Kiyoomi fumbles around for his phone and quietly mutes their alarm before it can sound. He plops back into bed, humming when Atsumu pulls his head onto his shoulder again. _Clingy,_ he thinks, but he isn’t sure which of them he’s accusing anymore.

.

Kiyoomi blames Bokuto and Hinata for everything.

They’re the ones that convince Atsumu to go to a club for Thirsty Thursday despite the fact that they’ve got early practice in the morning. Granted, all they really had to mention was the alcohol and dancing, and Atsumu was already reaching for his jacket. “Come with me,” Atsumu begs, batting his eyes and tugging on Kiyoomi’s wrist.

Kiyoomi almost says yes, because it’s hard to deny Atsumu anything when he’s got that bottom lip sticking out, but the very thought of standing in a crowded, loud bar with flashing lights and sweaty strangers is enough to make him blanch. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I can’t.”

Atsumu nods. “Ya cool if I still go?”

“Go crazy.” He frowns as he envisions the collateral damage a fully unleashed Miya Atsumu could cause. “But not too crazy.”

He gives Kiyoomi a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Omi. You’re my one and only dance partner.”

“That wasn’t what I was worried about.”

“Uh-huh. And I won’t stay out late. Just a few drinks. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “I think we’ll survive a night without each other, Atsumu.” Atsumu pulls away to zip up his coat, and Kiyoomi tucks his hands under his arms to stop them from fidgeting. “But, uh, text me when you get there.”

Atsumu flashes him a thumb’s up. “Roger.”

They exchange another farewell kiss, and then Atsumu is gone. Kiyoomi looks around the empty room. He thinks he should be excited. It’s rare that he gets time to himself now. With Atsumu out, he’s free to do anything he wants. He can watch those documentaries Atsumu called boring. Or reorganize their bookshelf without being judged at his criterias. He could finally throw away that god awful ‘Way of the Setter’ t-shirt that Atsumu insists on keeping despite it being far too small.

Kiyoomi puts on a docuseries about some American crime and begins pulling down some books, determined to get them organized by color and then alphabetically. He still finds himself checking his phone every so often.

 **Found Bokkun and Shoyo!** Atsumu texts. **Bokkun thinks he can drink more Jägerbombs than me!!! 😒**

Kiyoomi breathes a laugh out of his nose and types back: **Have fun. Don’t disappoint me.**

Atsumu’s reply is a long string of various heart emojis.

The night passes slowly. Kiyoomi’s already finished the bookshelf and two documentaries. He gives up on his quest to throw out Atsumu’s shirt. Kiyoomi tries every drawer, hanger, and closet in the apartment before admitting defeat. Atsumu must’ve caught onto his vendetta. He’s crafty, Kiyoomi will give him that. 

One bonus is that Atsumu will have no idea if Kiyoomi steals one of his puddings. It’s only fair, he decides as he raids the fridge. Atsumu is currently wrecking their diet plan far worse than him. He leans against the kitchen counter and feels ridiculous when he hears the clock chime and realizes only a few hours have passed.

The apartment is too quiet.

His phone pings with two Snapchat notifications. Kiyoomi finishes his pudding and disposes of the evidence before opening them. The first is a selfie of Atsumu, Hinata, and Bokuto cast in a purple light, making ugly faces at the bar with a shot glass in each hand. The next is a video of Atsumu holding the camera just far away enough that Kiyoomi can see him shuffling to the beat of Kygo and Whitney Houston’s _Higher Love._

 **a dance for my one and omi 😘,** reads the text banner along the bottom.

Kiyoomi feels entirely too much about such a simple gesture, so he simply replies: **Why are you like this?**

Atsumu’s little cartoon Bitmoji pops up in the chat, reading his message in real time, and Kiyoomi stays long enough to see his response. **I’LL BRING U A HIGHER LOVEEE**

His Snapchat goes dead after that, and Kiyoomi loses himself in another documentary about Mars for another hour or so until all the talk about radiation and sand-storms sends a ripple of existential dread down his spine. As he hurriedly switches the channel to a safe, mind-numbing sit-com, he hears his phone ring. Atsumu’s contact appears on the screen, featuring a picture of them together at some forgotten date venue. “Hello?”

“Omi,” Atsumu drawls, “M’home.”

Kiyoomi blinks at the door. “You are?”

“Kinda. Need help gettin’ outta the Uber.”

He peers out the window and, sure enough, there’s a black Mazda outside their apartment with the backdoor open and Atsumu half-slumped out of the car. He waves to Kiyoomi with a dopey smile. “How many Jägerbombs did you have?”

He watches Atsumu’s face pinch together in thought. “Fifteen?”

“Jesus,” Kiyoomi mutters. Just a few drinks, his ass. He heads for the cabinet for a pair of nitrile gloves and two disposable masks. “I’m on my way.”

“Hurry, Omi. The driver looks so _mad.”_

“Gee, I wonder why. I’m walking out now.” He hangs up before Atsumu can whine some more and puts on a mask as he walks to the car. “You’re plastered.”

Atsumu shoots him a weak pair of finger-guns. “Yer welcome.”

“That makes no sense,” Kiyoomi tells him and fixes the mask around Atsumu’s ears before heaving him out of the car. “Thank you,” he says to the driver, who nods in acknowledgement. Kiyoomi half-carries, half-drags Atsumu back inside.

“Bokkun says hi,” Atsumu babbles. “And so does Shoyo. Did’ja know he can do the worm?” He shakes his head solemnly. “It was amazin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu into a chair. “Are they as drunk as you?”

Atsumu just drums his hands on the table, bobbing along to a song only he can hear. Kiyoomi rolls up his sleeves and begins the long battle to get his shoes and coat off. Atsumu keeps giggling and slapping Kiyoomi’s hands away playfully. “If ya want my clothes off so bad then just ask, Omi-Omi,” he flirts, but sobers up a little at Kiyoomi’s unwavering glare.

“Shower,” Kiyoomi says firmly. Atsumu relents, standing and blinking at the room. Kiyoomi hovers behind him. “Easy. Can you stand on your own?”

“M’good,” he claims. “I got this.” He almost trips over the chair leg, catching himself on the wall and laughing. “I got it, I got it!” he chides, pushing past Kiyoomi’s arms as he tries to keep Atsumu balanced.

To his credit, Atsumu does manage to take a shower without incident. He emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later in clean pajamas and good spirits. As Kiyoomi pours him a glass of water, Atsumu presses against his back and plants his face between his shoulders. “Missed ya,” he slurs. “Is that weird?”

Kiyoomi softens in relief. “No,” he answers honestly. “I missed you, too.”

Atsumu squeezes him. “Hey, Omi?”

“Hm?”

“I’m hungry as fuck.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “What do you want?”

Atsumu rests his chin on Kiyoomi’s shoulder and grins. “Twinkie?”

“Do you know how many calories are in those shots? And you want more junk?”

 _“Please._ I’ll die if I don’t eat a Twinkie right now.”

Kiyoomi’s first thought is, _Then perish,_ but he is unfortunately weak to Atsumu’s pouts. He pulls the box out of the pantry. “Don’t complain tomorrow when you feel like shit.” Atsumu snatches the box out of his hands with unexpected speed. “At least eat it at the table. Please.”

Kiyoomi sits across from Atsumu as he tears into the first treat, looking overjoyed as he closes his eyes and focuses on the taste. Kiyoomi rests his cheek in his hand and figures he’s in for a long night.

“Eat slowly,” Kiyoomi instructs. “I don’t need you throwing up on my side of the bed later. Or at all, preferably.”

Atsumu smiles at him. “I love you.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously.” Atsumu takes another bite. “I love you _so much.”_

“I love you, too, you drunk dummy. Drink more water.”

He takes a long sip before ripping into a second Twinkie. As he munches, he watches Kiyoomi with a dreamy little sparkle in his eyes.

“What?” Kiyoomi scratches his cheek. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Atsumu purses his lips, just staring with love laden so heavily in his face that Kiyoomi bends. He looks away, instinctually hides his blush behind his arms. He ignores Atsumu’s pleas for his attention until a soft, “Kiyoomi,” lures him right back.

“What?”

Atsumu offers his half-eaten Twinkie with open palms, and asks with full cheeks and watery eyes, “Will you marry me?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen. His breath gets caught in his throat, too floored to notice Atsumu trying to give him the destroyed Twinkie until there are crumbs falling off onto the table. Kiyoomi backs away with his hands raised. “Ew.”

Atsumu’s shoulders slump. He looks utterly heartbroken. “Oh.”

He sighs, leans forward despite the warning bells ringing in his head. “I don’t want the gross Twinkie,” he clarifies slowly. Atsumu sniffles so Kiyoomi carefully trails a thumb across his cheek. “But I never said I wouldn’t marry you.”

Atsumu chokes on his mouthful, tears springing out of his eyes for a different reason. Kiyoomi readies his palm and gives a single, powerful slap to Atsumu’s back. _“Ow,”_ Atsumu hisses, but he’s breathing normally again. He swallows properly. “What if I’m askin’ for real?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “I gave a real answer.”

“Seriously?!”

“Yeah.”

Atsumu reaches for him, but Kiyoomi isn’t sappy enough to let Atsumu get too close without washing his face first. He settles for a hug, minding where Atsumu rests his head, and pushes a single kiss to the top of Atsumu’s hair.

Kiyoomi spends the rest of the night trying to coax Atsumu into brushing his teeth again and going to bed. It takes a lot of bargaining and threatening to call off their supposed engagement, but, when he finally hears the water running and Atsumu’s music echoing out of the bathroom, he flops onto the couch and breathes.

His heart is beating too fast. He can’t keep the smile off his face. There’s an anxious pit growing in his stomach, but mostly he’s just happy. It’s up to Atsumu whether or not this engagement will still be valid tomorrow, but Kiyoomi doesn’t think his answer will be changing any time soon.

.

It doesn’t get brought up in the morning. This doesn’t particularly worry Kiyoomi. Atsumu wakes up slower than most, and his hangover has him whining into his coffee mug that he’s never touching alcohol again and he’s never, ever, letting Bokuto talk him into any more stupid ideas. It’s a promise that will be broken the next time they go out, and Kiyoomi mentally makes a note to buy more coffee before that happens.

“Ugh,” Atsumu rasps, “what time is it?”

“Quarter to eight.”

“Fuck. Why did we become professional athletes? Why couldn’t we just be born as birds instead?”

“Why birds?”

“They can’t play volleyball.”

“What would we even do, then?”

Atsumu shrugs. “I dunno. Steal some fries?”

“Like, from the ground? Not happening.”

“I’d steal you some fresh fries,” Atsumu promises with a hand on his chest. “Maybe some fruit if I could find it. Think a bird can carry plums?”

“You’re really putting some thought into this.”

“Nothing but the best for _my_ bird boyfriend.”

At the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’, Kiyoomi feels the first pang of anxiety. He quickly pushes it down. It really was just a drunken moment that Atsumu probably barely remembers. They’ve only been dating six months. They haven’t even planned their seven month anniversary. An engagement wouldn’t just be moving too fast. It would be a direct flight into the sun.

He’s not disappointed. He’s really not.

“Ya rearranged the books again,” Atsumu notes.

“I…” He rolls his wrist. “Yeah, I did.”

Atsumu sips his coffee. “Looks nice.”

.

Atsumu wears sunglasses when they enter the gym, holding onto Kiyoomi’s arm like a cane and looking a little greener under the fluorescent lights. Bokuto spots them first and cheers. “HE LIVES!”

“Atsumu-san!” Hinata roars, punching the air. “You pulled through!”

Atsumu holds up a hand and bows his head. “Fear not, my friends, for I have returned from the dead to kick Bokkun’s ass.”

Bokuto’s laughter booms in the high ceiling like thunder. It hurts Kiyoomi’s ears so he can’t imagine what it sounds like to Atsumu, who manages to hold an impressive poker face. “Fifteen shots isn’t bad, Tsum-Tsum!”

“You’re just inhuman,” Atsumu accuses. “It’s not fair.”

Hinata bounces over. “Did you throw up?”

Kiyoomi glares at them. “Of course he didn’t. I took care of him.”

“Hey, Miya! Sakusa!” Meian calls from the sidelines. “Morning! I wanna see some good stretches before we start, okay?”

Hinata and Bokuto smirk when Atsumu takes off his sunglasses to reveal the bags under his eyes. “Okay, fellas,” Atsumu squints at the lights, “let’s get to work.”

Miraculously, Atsumu plays just as sharp as he always does. The only issue seems to be when Bokuto ropes him into a few extra tosses. Atsumu sets the ball to him at an aggressive angle that makes Bokuto blink.

“Sorry,” Atsumu says in a tone too sweet to be genuine, “I think my shoulder’s actin’ up.”

Thomas frowns. “What happened to your shoulder?”

“Just a bit stiff, that’s all.”

Three hours later, Coach Foster calls for them to start cooling down. “Don’t skimp on your sleep this week,” he tells them. “Away game is on the fourteenth. I want everyone bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on the bus at seven sharp.”

Then they’re dismissed for the day. It’s still early, and usually Kiyoomi would be pulling Atsumu back onto the court for more tosses, but Atsumu rolls his shoulder again and he decides not to push it. Instead, he watches Atsumu and Hinata head to the locker room, talking excitedly about something Kiyoomi doesn’t hear because he’s too focused on Atsumu’s practice t-shirt. His last name is printed in a letterman’s bold font across his back, and Kiyoomi is filled with a sudden uneasy feeling. He carries the feeling as he passes Atsumu and Hinata. “Shower,” he tells Atsumu, and ducks into the bathrooms before either can respond.

The second the water hits Kiyoomi’s head, it’s like a little lightbulb flickers on and illuminates one very unfortunate truth: he’s disappointed. Every piece of relationship advice he’s ever heard tells him not to rush, not to dive in before learning how to swim. If this is the direction they’re going anyways, then what’s the point of waiting? Neither of them are the type to back down from what they want.

And, Twinkie be damned, what he wants is to marry Miya Atsumu.

When he pads back out to the lockers, Hinata and Atsumu are the only ones left. Atsumu’s gym bag is at his feet, and he’s lightly rubbing a spot on his shoulder with a strained grimace. “So hungry,” Hinata complains as he shuts his locker. “Anyone have snacks?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu digs in his gym bag, “I think I threw some in here this morning.”

“Junk food,” Kiyoomi mutters as he dries his hair with a towel.

“Here.” Atsumu ignores Kiyoomi and holds out his hand to Hinata. “I’ve only got a Twinkie.” As the words leave his mouth, Atsumu freezes. Hinata attacks the wrapper with his teeth at once, oblivious to the dramatic way Atsumu turns and meets Kiyoomi’s eyes. An entire silent conversation passes between them. Kiyoomi gives a shrug. Atsumu breaks into a smile.

“Miya,” Meian shouts from the doorway, and subsequently shakes Atsumu out of his thoughts, “rest that shoulder. And take it easy on the Jägermeister, do you hear me?”

“Aye, aye!” Atsumu waves at Meian, who glares back. “Sheesh. I get it. I won’t!”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Kiyoomi assures.

Meian nods. “Then I’ll see you all on Monday. Have a good weekend.”

“Bye, captain!” Hinata and Atsumu chime at the same time.

“I should probably be heading out, too,” Hinata says and stretches his arms over his head. “Bye, Omi-san. Thanks for the food, Atsumu.”

“Later, Sho-kun.”

Once he’s gone, Kiyoomi reaches down to pick up both of their gym bags. “You said your shoulder hurts,” he scolds, twisting the bags out of Atsumu’s reach. Atsumu grins like a Cheshire cat, and Kiyoomi takes one exaggerated step so that the duffel bag collides into Atsumu’s chest. “Don’t say anything. We’re going home.”

“But my legs are kinda sore, too.” He winks. “Carry me?”

Kiyoomi walks away, but he stalls at the door so Atsumu can catch up.

When they return home, Atsumu all but collapses on the couch. “That was horrible. M’never drinkin’ again.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Kiyoomi lightly taps the top of his head. “Take a nap. I’ll handle things out here.”

“Yer spoilin’ me,” Atsumu accuses, sitting up and suddenly much closer than Kiyoomi anticipated. “It’s kinda makin’ me suspicious.”

“Nap,” he repeats. Then, sensing the unsaid question lingering between them, he adds, “We’ll talk later, okay? When you’re not feeling like shit. Which, by the way, I told you so.”

Atsumu sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Wake me if there’s food.”

“You sound more like your brother every day.”

“Now yer just bein’ cruel,” Atsumu laughs as he disappears into the bedroom.

Kiyoomi cleans. He cooks. He thinks about the elephant in the room. Should Kiyoomi bring it up first? How would he even say it? _I know you were drunk, but I haven’t stopped thinking about that disgusting Hostess cake all day, so you should probably marry me._ Kiyoomi might actually burst into flames before the night is up.

Thankfully, Atsumu is the one to address the big question shortly after Kiyoomi wakes him up.

“So, uh,” he starts. They’re sitting at the table with a meal between them again. The same Christmas commercials air on the TV with the same carols. Atsumu wears Kiyoomi’s old sweatshirt and a nervous smile. “Should I be apologizin’ for proposin’ to ya with a Twinkie?”

Kiyoomi sips his tea. “You tell me.”

“I mean… Ya said yes.”

Kiyoomi hums noncommittally.

There’s a pause where Burl Ives wishes them a holly, jolly Christmas. Atsumu pushes his vegetables around the plate. “It’s crazy,” he blurts suddenly. “Like, it’s way too fast. It’d be the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”

Kiyoomi nods. “Oh, absolutely.”

Atsumu chews on his lower lip. “It’s not like when we moved in together. We’d be _husbands._ That type of decision shouldn’t be made because of a drunk night.”

“Sure.”

Atsumu taps his knife against his plate. His leg bounces anxiously. “Probably best to forget it. Right?”

“If that’s what you want.”

They go back to their dinner. Kiyoomi gets two bites in before Atsumu speaks up again. “Fuck it.” He drops his silverware and leans forward, hands braced on the table. “What if I meant it?”

Kiyoomi smiles. “Then we’d need rings.”

Atsumu laughs heartily. In a flash, he propels himself out of his chair and into Kiyoomi’s waiting arms, pressing kisses to wherever his lips could reach. “Omi,” he pulls back, “I’m actually serious this time! I wanna marry you!”

Kiyoomi nods. “Then marry me.”

“I’m gonna!” Atsumu twists so he’s seated fully in Kiyoomi’s lap. His hand smooths back Kiyoomi’s hair. “Holy shit. I really am.”

“I can’t believe you proposed with a Twinkie,” he breathes, curling into Atsumu’s touch.

“Twinkies are forever, babe,” Atsumu kisses the corner of his mouth, “just like us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be the change you want to see in the world. Angsty sakuatsu's out. Married sakuatsu only!! /j
> 
> But, uhh, yeah, I simply lost all control and this got super long so. To be continued!! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written. There are a lot of characters appearing, so fair warning that there are many background pairings mentioned/implied in this chapter!

The best part about owning a restaurant is setting his own hours. A Friday night is a sacred thing, so Miya Onigiri shuts down at eight o’clock and no later. The day wasn’t particularly busy. In fact, Osamu was tempted several times to close the doors early and head home. Suna’s probably still at practice, but Atsumu’s team has them earlier. It’s one of the reasons Friday nights became a thing. The tradition involves take-out and FaceTime.

As the clock chimes the hour, Osamu hangs his apron on the hook. He wipes down the counters. He neatly packs away the bank deposit into the safe, and he double checks the locks. Everything is in order. Everything except, of course, for Atsumu.

It’s not very rare for them not to text for an entire day, but it’s still noticeable. There’s usually at least a screenshotted meme or even a Snapchat, but Atsumu has been quiet since he sent a selfie of himself in some club with Hinata and Bokuto the previous night.

 **ffs tsumu,** went Osamu’s reply, **is that my shirt??**

Atsumu only answered with an angel face emoji, and Osamu didn’t see him pop up in his notifications since. Not necessarily concerning, but Osamu still carries an uneasy feeling all evening. Like walking the calm before the storm. Call it a twin’s intuition, but Atsumu was up to something.

By the time he arrives home, it’s nearly nine. Atsumu still hasn’t opened his text so he decides to dig into his meal, propping his phone up against the paper towel roll to watch mindless videos as he eats. Usually Atsumu or Suna is on the screen, keeping him company as he eats and filling the silence with rants about the other. “Tell yer boyfriend,” Atsumu bitched at him just last week, “to stop posting old pics of me on Insta! I’m serious, Samu!”

“Tell Atsumu,” was Suna’s reply when Osamu FaceTimed him the next morning, “that I’ll stop posting when he admits that Bly Manor is just as good as Hill House.”

“Why d’ya gotta involve me in everything?” is Osamu’s question to both of them.

He’s halfway through his meal when the video is interrupted with an incoming video call from Atsumu. He lowers his fork and answers it on the fourth ring. “Hey,” Osamu greets as the connection stabilizes. Atsumu’s camera focuses, and Osamu immediately knows he’s about to say something dumb just by how shitty his grin is. “What did’ja do?”

“Why d’ya always assume I did something?”

“Because you did. I can see the stupid in yer little smirk. What did’ja do to Sakusa?”

“Nothing, ya little… Whatever. Not the point! I need to tell ya something, but promise me yer not gonna freak out.”

Osamu scoffs. “I don’t think there’s any possible way ya could still surprise me.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Willin’ to put money on that?”

“Just spit it out, Tsumu. I’ve got barbeque waitin’.”

The camera freezes, just for a second, and when it clears up Atsumu is moving through a living room. _Sakusa’s living room,_ he realizes with mild interest. It looks normal enough, but it’s hard to imagine Atsumu living somewhere so neat. “Okay, okay,” Atsumu drops down onto the couch, and Osamu can just make out Sakusa’s arm on the left side of the screen. “Brace yerself.”

“What are you doing?” Sakusa asks warily.

“I gotta tell Samu!”

“Now? Can’t it at least wait until morn-?” he breaks off with a sigh as Atsumu turns the phone so that half of Sakusa is in sight. “Hi, Osamu.”

“Hey, Sakusa.” Osamu looks between the two of them, growing slightly worried. “Okay, who’s dyin’?” 

“No one.”

“Then will ya just--?”

“We’re gettin’ married.”

For a few shell-shocked moments, Osamu only hears the leaky drip from his kitchen sink and the low hum of his refrigerator. Then, slowly, Atsumu calling his name drifts his attention back and Osamu shakes his head. “Stop jokin’ around.”

“How rude!” Atsumu huffs. “We really are! Omi! Omi, tell this bastard that we’re engaged.”

He glances at Atsumu and shrugs. “It’s true. It happened last night. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Osamu mimics incredulously. “People don’t _sort of_ decide to get married!”

Sakusa hums. “For the record, he was the one that asked me.”

“What the hell?” He points at his brother threateningly. “Why is this is the first I’m hearin’ about any of this?!”

“It just happened!” Atsumu laughs, raising a hand placatingly. “Wait. Are ya actually mad?”

“I mean, yeah!” Osamu huffs. “And ya’ve only been dating for six months! Why do ya even need to get married?”

Sakusa and Atsumu exchange glances. “Hm,” Sakusa nods, “that’s a valid question. I guess we just want to.”

Osamu groans, running a hand down his cheek. “Yer supposed to be the sane one, Sakusa. Really? Him? Ya wanna marry him?”

Sakusa smiles. “Afraid so.”

He exhales. As the news settles in, he surveys Atsumu’s expression. He’s practically glowing, happy but in a subdued sort of way. Eyes on Sakusa and shoulders relaxed. Osamu doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this happy. “Well, let’s see it, then.”

“See what?”

“The ring.” Osamu points at Sakusa’s hand. At their continued blank stares, Osamu’s face goes passive again. “Ya didn’t even give him a ring? What kinda proposal was this?”

“Oh.” Atsumu looks off to the right. “Uh, the Twinkie might still be in the trash.”

“Do _not_ dig in the garbage,” Sakusa grumbles.

“Twinkie? Garbage?” Osamu shakes his head. “Never mind. Just… congratulations.”

Atsumu beams. “Samu!”

“Yeah, yeah. If ya don’t think yer in for a lecture when Dad finds out, though, ya’ve got another thing comin’.”

“Oh, hell.” Atsumu gapes. “We hafta tell our _parents.”_

“Lemme know when ya do,” Osamu chirps. “I wanna be there.”

Sakusa snorts and breaks into a wide, closed-mouth smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “Me too.” Atsumu groans, hiding his face in Sakusa’s shoulder. Sakusa accepts the touch and says to Osamu, “Thank you.”

Osamu can’t help but smile back. “Am I allowed to tell Rin?”

“Not yet.” Atsumu returns into view. “I wanna make it a thing.”

“A thing? Like, an announcement?”

“Yeah. Just not yet. Soon.”

“Then why’d ya tell me?” Osamu laments. “Rin knows when someone’s keepin’ stuff from him. He’s like a bloodhound.”

Atsumu pouts. “Yer my best man! Of course I had to tell ya! And tell Sunarin to mind his business.”

Osamu squints at the screen. “Sakusa, yer really okay with a big announcement?” Sakusa shrugs, smiling again. Osamu mimics a whip before Atsumu’s words catch up to him. “Wait… Ya just said I’m yer best man.”

“Who else, stupid?”

“Ya have no right to call _me_ stupid.”

Atsumu laughs and, despite the concerns still rising within him, Osamu laughs back.

.

Suna Rintarou walks out of practice with two missed calls and three texts in all caps from Osamu. He wrinkles his nose. “That’s weird.”

Komori zips up his jacket and looks over. “What?”

“Samu’s begging me to call him. Usually he’s FaceTiming his brother around this time.”

“Is he okay?”

There are very few things that Suna doesn’t fuck around with in his relationship with Miya Osamu. Firstly, he does not touch any of Osamu’s food without explicit consent. Secondly, he does not question whatever stupid shit Atsumu and him get into during their weekly catch-up calls. But the texts are like an S.O.S. call, and Suna’s half-worried that he’s going to call Osamu and find out that one or both of them are in jail. “I should call,” he says.

Komori glances around the empty locker room. “You want me to stick around?” They stayed later than usual for individual practice. Washio is somewhere in the bathrooms, cleaning up, but everyone else left a good while ago. Suna just shrugs in response before tapping Osamu’s name and holding the phone to his ear.

Osamu answers before the first ring is even done. _“Rin._ Thank God.”

“Hello?” Suna leans against his locker. “Are you okay?”

“Um… I can trust ya, right?”

That’s a trap if Suna’s ever seen one. He frowns. “Are you really asking me this?”

“No, I - Ugh. I need to tell ya something, but ya can’t tell anyone about it. Okay?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so flustered,” Suna teases. “Is it really embarrassing?” He turns away from Komori and whispers, “Should I, like, pick up some ointment or something?”

Washio enters the locker room just as Suna starts to snicker. He sends a questioning look to Komori, who shrugs back at him.

“Rin,” Osamu groans, “I’m serious.”

“Then just tell me what’s-”

“Tsumu and Sakusa are engaged!” Osamu interrupts, far too loudly. Suna jumps in surprise, immediately glancing over and - yep - Komori and Washio heard that. “They’re bein’ huge shits about making some big announcement so don’t tell anyone.”

Komori blinks. “Atsumu and Sakusa? Did he just say they’re engaged?”

Washio gives an affirming hum.

Suna inhales through his teeth. “Yeah… Probably should have used your inside voice for that, Samu.”

Osamu pauses. “Oh.”

Komori lights up. “Oh my God? I need to call him! I can’t believe he didn’t…!” He sniffles. “I need a moment.” Komori plops down on the bench and Washio pats his shoulder.

Suna returns to the conversation. “Does Sakusa know Atsumu is saying they’re engaged?”

“That’s the craziest part,” Osamu says, sounding relieved to be able to talk about this. “Sakusa looked happy. It’s real.”

“When did this even happen?”

“Last night, I guess. But I just found out, like, twenty minutes ago.”

Suna snorts. “Are you telling me you only lasted twenty minutes before you broke down and told me?”

“In my defense, ya can be kinda scary when ya sense someone’s hidin’ something from ya.”

“You didn’t even try, though.”

“Okay, yeah, but I needed to talk to _someone._ I mean, don’tcha think it’s fast? They’ve been together less than a year, and they’re not exactly easy-going.”

Suna mulls over the last seven or so months since Atsumu and Sakusa got together. The four of them hang out often. It’s inevitable when his boyfriend and his best friend are twins. After their first double date, Osamu didn’t believe Sakusa Kiyoomi, serious and quiet, would last next to Atsumu’s boisterous need for attention. Suna, however, picked up on subtleties faster. He saw how Atsumu scanned the menu for things Sakusa could eat before even looking for himself. He noticed how Sakusa kept his body angled toward Atsumu as they sat as if drawing comfort. He knew how lost they were in each other, and how they continued to venture further and further off the beaten path together as the months went by.

“When has Atsumu ever slowed down?” he reasons.

Osamu sighs. “I just don’t wanna see his heart get broken.”

“Me neither,” Suna admits, “but I want to see him happy, too.” He hesitates. “Don’t you dare tell him I said that. I’m still mad at him for talking trash about Bly Manor.”

“I don’t understand why ya two bother watchin’ shows together if yer just gonna fight about them.”

“And that’s why I can’t watch them with you.” Suna breaks off as Komori sniffles again. “I’ll call you back when I get home, okay? I gotta get Komori a paper bag to breathe into or something.”

“I’m fine,” Komori says.

“Sure, yeah,” Osamu replies and they hang up.

Suna pockets his phone and gives Komori a look. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

Komori sighs. “Yeah, it’s just… Sakusa used to say he’d never get married. He said that the idea of needing a piece of paper to tell you to be faithful was a stupid scam. I told him that, when he met the right person, he’d change his mind. And now he’s engaged?” He wipes his dry cheeks dramatically. “I’m so proud.”

“You’re not worried? About it being too fast, I mean?”

“Worried?” Komori gives him a confused look. “You think I’m worried that my overthinking, serious cousin would make a huge life decision on a whim? If Sakusa agreed to it, then I know he’s thought it through.”

Suna finds himself cracking a smile. “Okay then.”

By the time Suna gets home, it’s pushing ten o’clock. Suna cradles his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he kicks the door shut and flicks on the lights. Osamu answers just as Suna’s dropping his gym bag. “Hi, honey,” he mutters.

Suna straightens up, glaring at the plant Washio bought him as an apartment-warming gift as he notes Osamu’s sheepish tone. “Honey?” he repeats. “Osamu, are you _okay?”_

There’s a crackle of static. Osamu’s defeated sigh sounds far away, much farther than Osaka, but Suna shuts down that line of thinking before it evolves into something horrendously sappy. “I,” Osamu starts and Suna’s glare deepens as he hangs onto Osamu’s soft reply, “I told Aran.”

And Suna deflates. “You folded? _Again?”_ He spins around to check the time on his stove’s display. “How long did it take me to get home?”

“Stop,” Osamu pleads. “It’s Atsumu’s fault, really.”

Suna groans. “Samu, it’s time you faced the truth. Whether he’s pissing you off or not, you’re weak when it comes to Atsumu.”

 _“Never_ say that again.”

“So, like, did you cry when he asked you to be the best man?”

“I did not cr - How d’ya even know he already asked me that?”

He rolls his eyes. “How long have I been stuck with you two? Give me some credit.”

“I always do.”

.

Kita Shinsuke stifles a yawn behind his hand. Usually, he’d be asleep by this time of night. Rising with the sun is part of the job, but there are a few times he’ll make an exception. Like a late volleyball game airing on TV, or when in very good company. Even if said company receives a phone call from Miya Osamu and politely excuses himself before taking it outside.

Kita pours himself another cup of tea, wondering what exactly Osamu could need this late. Kita is used to frequent calls from Atsumu, who will still eagerly ask what Kita thought of his matches despite the fact that Kita hasn’t played in years.

The door slides open and shut again. Ojiro Aran sighs as he sits back down, tucking himself under the kotatsu and reaching for his own cup. “Everything okay?” Kita asks.

Aran smiles. “Yeah. I think Osamu’s just in shock. Seems like our Tsumu’s gotten engaged.”

Kita blinks. “Atsumu?”

Aran nods. “Apparently it was all pretty sudden. Osamu’s worried he’s just messin’ around, but I don’t think even Atsumu would take a joke this far.” He sighs, shaking his head. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

Kita hums, taking a slow sip as he contemplates Atsumu’s nature to lose himself while chasing after what he loves. He lowers his cup. “I think I’d like to speak to Sakusa Kiyoomi before the wedding.”

Aran squints suspiciously at him. “Why? What’re ya gonna say to him?”

Kita leans his elbows onto the table. “I just wanna make sure he understands that he’s not the only one who cares for Atsumu,” he says. “That’s all.”

Aran laughs. “I don’t think ya need to give the shovel talk to Sakusa Kiyoomi, hon.”

Kita frowns. “It’s not… I’m not gonna threaten him or anythin’. Some things should just be done properly.”

“Oh, yer gonna threaten him,” Aran argues. “Whether ya mean it or not, Shin, ya can be kinda scary sometimes.”

“So ya’ve said before.” Kita smiles. “Now, are ya sure yer packed? Train leaves early tomorrow.”

“I’m all set,” Aran assures him, reaching over to tangle their fingers together. “If I forget somethin’ then I’ll just have to come back and get it, won’t I?”

Kita smiles. “Guess so.”

.

Keiji thinks he needs new glasses. He squints at the manuscript before him, trying to decipher the scribbly dialogue that’s been smudged and rewritten twice. “What letter does that look like?” he asks Kenma and shoves the paper into his face.

“N?” he guesses. “M?”

Keiji looks at it again and then sighs, drops the paper onto his coffee table, and rubs his temple with his thumb. “That’s it. I’m getting bifocals.”

Kenma snorts. “Nerd.”

“I’m sorry; why exactly are you hiding in my apartment to preorder some console instead of at your own home?”

“This is not just _some console,”_ Kenma mutters. “And, well, Kuroo has some Zoom meeting with some American affiliates until ten. I don’t want to be anywhere near that.”

Keiji hums. “They couldn’t have picked a time that worked better for both hemispheres?”

Kenma shrugs then leans back over both his laptops, refreshing various tabs and huffing slightly. Keiji goes back to his work, making a mental note to ask Udai to be more careful with his handwriting.

A loud, sudden thud sounds in the bedroom followed by heavy footsteps and the door crashing open. “KEIJI!” Bokuto shouts, startling Kenma and him. “GUESS WHAT?”

Kenma shoots a dirty look toward Keiji, who turns and leans his arm against the back of the couch. “What?” he asks.

Bokuto nearly collides with the sofa as he waves his phone excitedly. “Washio texted me! He asked about Tsumu and Omi!”

Keiji tilts his head to one side. “That’s… strange. How did they come up?”

“So, apparently, Myaa-sam called at practice and said they’re _engaged!”_

“Engaged?” Keiji and Kenma parrot simultaneously.

“Finally!” Bokuto cheers, pumping his fists in the air. “Another married couple in the group! Do you think Sakusa likes barbecues?”

Keiji smiles. “I’m sure he does, Kou, but I don’t think they’re going to get married right away. We were engaged for years.”

Kenma sighs. “I can’t believe I thought it’d be quieter over here.”

“A party!” Bokuto interjects, draping himself over the back of the couch. “We should plan a party!” Kenma leans away from him with a mildly irritated twitch. Keiji tries to focus on his work with a small smile. Bokuto pays them no mind, just continues to tap at his phone at an impressive speed. “I’m texting Hinata _right now.”_

“Leave Shoyo alone,” Kenma mutters. “He went to bed a half hour ago.”

Keiji snorts. “Stop babying him.”

“You’re gonna lecture me about babying when you married _him?”_

Keiji follows Kenma's accusatory pointing to Bokuto, whose face pinches together in deep thought as he raises a hand to his elbow. “Keiji... How do you spell fiancés again?”

Keiji must look as fond as he feels because Kenma scoffs. “You know,” Keiji says snidely, “I think Kuroo babies you most of all.” He smirks as Kenma freezes. “When do you think Kuroo will pop the question, hm?”

Kenma scowls like he just bit into a lemon.

“Never mind! I think I figured it out!” Bokuto shoots them a thumb up. Keiji gives one back.

.

Kageyama Tobio does not keep up with social media. He has an Instagram and will occasionally post at the behest of his managers. _Post something light,_ they suggested. _Something that lets your fans in a bit. A casual selfie will do._

So he uploads a selfie of himself at practice and doesn’t understand why they send him back a distraught email. _Kageyama-san, you can only see the top of your face and the gym ceiling in this picture!!_

“I thought it was very compelling,” Ushijima assures him. “I don’t look at the gym ceiling very often.”

Hoshiumi laughs, grabbing onto the table for balance with one hand while the other waves his phone around. “Th-the angle!” he wheezes. “You’re such a grandpa!”

Kageyama’s eyebrow twitches. “They should have specified what angle they wanted me to take the damn picture from! How was I supposed to know? I never take pictures of myself!” The only times he appears in photos that aren’t official are likely from high school, courtesy of Hinata or Yachi. They’re probably still up on Facebook somewhere.

Ushijima hums, looking thoughtful as he lowers his drink. “Perhaps a selfie stick would help? I’ve seen them on TV.”

Kageyama rubs his chin. “Now that you mention it, I’ve heard of those before.”

For some reason, this exchange makes Hoshiumi laugh harder, clutching his sides until he’s all but slid out of his chair. Next to him, Hirugami Fukuro reaches out to their shared plate of fries. “You guys are thinking way too hard about this,” he says, “but, if you want, I can just take the picture for you.”

Kageyama feels the weight lift off his shoulders. “Thank you, captain. I’d appreciate it.”

Hoshiumi claws his way back into his chair. “We should all eat out together more often,” he says. “This is fun.”

Kageyama’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it for a few minutes until he receives another notification. If it’s his managers telling him he screwed up another social media post then he’s moving somewhere far away. Like Italy. That should be far enough, right?

They’re from Hinata, and - much like the sender - the messages are short and confusing. **what’s a finances party?** reads the first. And, **oi kageyamaaa,** is the next.

Kageyama replies: **A what? Why are you asking me?**

**bc google doesn’t know and i’m too embarrassed to text tsukishima??**

_Fair,_ Kageyama reasons. **Where did you even hear about a finances party?**

“Sokolov,” Hirugami calls to the other end of the table, “you have a thriving Instagram, don’t you?”

Sokolov laughs. “Aw, captain, you want me to help boost your likes? I’m honored.”

“Not mine. Our setter’s.”

“Did you guys even look at the post?” Hoshiumi interrupts. “It’s almost got a hundred thousand likes. They’re photoshopping him in everything.”

“Oh my God,” Romero mutters gravely. “He’s become a meme.”

Hirugami shrugs. “It was just a matter of time, honestly.”

“What?” Kageyama blinks. “Is that bad?”

Ushijima shakes his head. “I’ve been a meme before. It’ll pass.”

Hoshiumi looks like he just heard Christmas came early. “Okay, googling that now.”

Kageyama’s phone buzzes him again. **idk** **bokuto-san just texted me saying we needed to plan atsumu and sakusa a finances party. do u think they like won the lottery?**

“Oh, I found an Ushijima meme compilation on YouTube!” Hoshiumi beams. “And here’s another that’s titled, ‘Adlers versus Black Jackals but every time Ushijima spikes it gets faster.’”

“Have you guys ever heard of a ‘finances party’?” Kageyama asks the group, curiosity getting the better of him.

“What?” Hoshiumi raises an eyebrow. “Did someone win the lottery or something?”

“Hinata just texted me,” he explains. “He said they’re planning a finances party for Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi, but he doesn’t know why.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing,” Sokolov says firmly.

Hinata sends another text: **NVM BOKUTO MEANT FIANCÉS AS IN HE WANTS TO PLAN AN ENGAGEMENT PARTY OMG!!! 🤯🎉🎉 WHAT DO U DO FOR ENGAGEMENT PARTIES???**

“Bokuto-san misspelt fiancés, apparently,” Kageyama announces. “He's planning an engagement party.”

“Engagement?!” a few of them blurt back.

“No way,” Romero calls. “The one with the freaky wrists and the one whose hair was in desperate need of a root touch-up?”

“Sakusa is getting married?” Ushijima leans back. “I should call Satori and have him send them a congratulatory chocolate bouquet.”

“Are you even allowed to marry a teammate?” Sokolov poses.

“I don’t remember seeing anything against it in the contract’s code of conduct section,” Ushijima answers.

“You mean you actually read all that?”

Kageyama texts back: **How am I supposed to know??**

 **u’ll be my plus one right?** Hinata asks. Kageyama’s mouth twitches into a smile until Hinata adds, **also this u? lolol** Accompanied to the text is a stock photo of Stonehenge with a watermark obscuring one of the stones. Kageyama’s face from the nose up is pasted in the bottom of the frame.

He almost throws his phone at the wall.

.

“Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi got engaged.”

“Iwa-chan, our literal first chance to Skype in six days and that’s what you wanna talk about?”

“Shut up. Ushijima just texted me that.”

“... _Why_ are you texting Ushiwaka?”

“We’re friends.”

“That’s it. I’m divorcing you.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Hajime, I swear to God, put the phone down and listen to me complain about my day.”

Hajime laughs. “Fine. Just let me set my alarm for the morning.” He pretends not to notice the app notify him that his alarm will go off just five hours and fifty-one minutes from now. Instead, he puts his phone on his nightstand and returns his attention to his laptop screen. Oikawa pouts back at him. “Okay, now tell me exactly how you ended up in Santiago by _accident?”_

“Tequila is a hell of a spirit,” Oikawa begins before launching into a story that has Hajime seriously considering buying a plane ticket just for the chance to knock some sense back into his head.

.

Atsumu wakes up to a mass of texts and DMs on Twitter from nearly every volleyball player he’s ever played with or against. He blinks at the screen, equations forming in his brain as he tries to make sense of the stream of words so early in the morning.

 **CONGRATULATIONS TSUMU,** is a message from Hitoshi Ginjima.

 **I cannot believe u just bagged Sakusa Kiyoomi u utter madman,** comes another from Akagi Michinari.

 **Hey, Tsumu. Congratulations on the engagement! Just wanted to give you a head’s up that Kita will be asking to meet Sakusa 'properly' soon,** from Aran.

 **FIANCÉ PARTY FIANCÉ PARTY,** from Bokuto and Hinata.

“Well,” he mutters into his pillow, “so much for announcin’ it ourselves.” He glances over his shoulder, noting that Kiyoomi has already gotten up. Concern twinges in his gut. It’s a lot all at once, even for someone as socially competent as Atsumu, so he hopes Kiyoomi isn’t holed up somewhere in their apartment with dark clouds over his head. It’s that image that has him scrambling out of bed and ignoring the rest of the messages.

However, as he peers around the corner of the hallway, he finds Kiyoomi still in his pajamas and leaning against the kitchen counter with his phone to his ear. “I’m glad you’re happy and all,” he’s saying firmly, “but did you really have to tell Iizuna-san?”

Whatever reply he receives makes a smile push at his face, and Atsumu lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He walks into the kitchen, grinning when Kiyoomi automatically lifts an arm for him. Atsumu latches onto his new fiance with arms tightly corded around his waist.

“I’ll tell you more when we actually start planning,” Kiyoomi says. “No, Komori, do _not_ make a Facebook group.” Atsumu snorts into his neck. “Look, I’ll call you later, okay? Yeah. You, too. Bye.” Kiyoomi sighs as he hangs up, shoulders dropping. “That was exhausting.”

“Does everyone and their mothers know we’re engaged now?” Atsumu asks.

Kiyoomi rubs his back. “I don’t know why we expected anything different.”

“Ya okay?”

“Yeah. I really am.”

Atsumu pulls back to survey Kiyoomi’s expression, looking for the telltale crease between his eyebrows or the way his eyes crinkle when he lies. But, he finds only an earnest smile. “Ah,” he muses, “if I’d known gettin’ engaged would make ya this happy, I woulda done it months ago.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “I would’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t now.”

“No. I didn’t. I think your brother’s right. I’ve lost my mind.”

“Lucky me, then.”

The morning is spent taking turns replying to various messages. Assuring worried relatives that they’re taking this seriously and excited teammates that there will be a party in the future. For now, it’s just a promise that neither of them are going anywhere. A wedding feels like a far-off endeavor, but Atsumu is fine just knowing that Kiyoomi will be the one at his side whenever it does come.

Osamu and Suna show up at their door around eleven. Irritation brims when Atsumu sees the sheepish look on Osamu’s face so, just to be difficult, he sits on the couch and flips through _Volleyball Monthy_ as Suna and Kiyoomi chat.

“So, you decided to chain yourself to a feral beast,” Suna teases.

Kiyoomi shrugs. “I think I’m going to run out and grab some donuts,” he says to the bewilderment of the room.

Suna stands up quickly. “I’ll help.”

“Yer not subtle!” Atsumu calls after them just before the door closes.

Osamu sits down in the spot Suna vacated. Atsumu returns to his magazine, chin raised and trying to copy Kiyoomi’s impassive stare. “Tsumu,” Osamu starts, “don’t be a brat about this. I’m sorry, okay?”

Atsumu doesn’t budge.

“Are ya really mad at me or are ya just playin’ it up?”

Atsumu turns the page. “Alexa,” he calls, “turn on my Samu playlist.”

A cool robotic voice replies, “Now playing ‘Immigrant Song’ by _Led Zeppelin.”_

“What the fuck?” Osamu mutters as the guitars start. “Stop making Robert Plant scream for you and talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m not mad that you told everyone in Japan that I’m gettin’ married,” he finally says. “But Aran told me that ya called him and said that I wasn’t taking this seriously enough. Samu, I know it’s fast, but is it really so terrible that I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with?”

Osamu’s eyes widen. “No, of course I... Okay, so I freaked. But, haven’t ya seen what everyone else’s sayin’? That they’ve never seen a pair better suited for each other. Everyone’s thrilled because it just makes sense. Yer gonna be fine. And,” he looks away, scowling as he forces out, “I’m proud of ya.”

Atsumu cracks a smile. “Alexa, skip to the next song.”

Alexa smoothly announces, “Now playing ‘You’re My Best Friend’ by _Queen.”_

Osamu glares at him, trying and failing to look unaffected. “...You sappy bastard.”

Atsumu beams. “And don’tcha forget it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah, I just really enjoyed the visual of the news of Sakusa and Atsumu's engagement spreading through the Japanese volleyball league like the beacons between Gondor and Rohan being lit in the Lord of the Rings. Overnight, every volleyball player in the country is expecting an invitation to their wedding.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the rating bump from G to T is because they're at a wedding and they're all drunk af. ;v;

“And that’s how I accidentally told all of Japan that my brother got engaged,” Osamu says to the reception room. Standing by the wedding party’s table, Osamu can look around and see the collateral in the form of full seats and smiling faces. He catches Suna’s gaze, sees encouragement in the small lilt of his smile, and continues the speech he’s spent the last year crafting.

“I’ll admit,” he nods, ‘that when Tsumu first told me that he was datin’ Sakusa Kiyoomi, I thought to myself: this is gonna be crazy. My brother never does anything without his whole heart in it. Sometimes that means playin’ volleyball all the way to the Olympics. Sometimes that means annoyin’ me at three in the morning to cry about some space documentary he just watched. But, all of the time, it means given’ everything he’s got.

“So when I first met Kiyoomi, as my brother’s boyfriend, I was a little nervous. Tsumu charges headfirst while Kiyoomi struck me as the type that looks twice before he steps. It didn’t make sense. But, then we all ate dinner together. And wouldn’t ya know it? It was even crazier than I first thought. They just clicked together. Atsumu knew how to order Kiyoomi’s food specially. Kiyoomi knew the endings to whatever story Atsumu was tryin’ to tell. They were takin’ care of each other. So I knew I had nothin’ to worry about.” 

He turns to face Atsumu and Kiyoomi. Atsumu looks like Osamu feels: overjoyed, misty-eyed, and proud. Kiyoomi has his arm slung over the back of Atsumu’s chair, eyes sparkling as he watches his new husband attempt to fight off tears. Osamu lifts his champagne flute, prompting the others to do the same. “Congratulations to both of ya. I’m proud to be the first one to welcome Kiyoomi into the family. He’s the brother I never had.” He ignores Atsumu’s weak sputter. “Keep takin’ care of each other. Keep growin’ and never stop. To the happy couple!”

The room echoes Osamu’s wishes, and the taste of champagne further fuels whatever nostalgic mood that keeps rising. Just a couple hours ago, Osamu watched Atsumu up at the altar, getting _married_ , and all he could think of was when they were six; Osamu on Atsumu’s shoulders as they attempted to sneak food out of the top pantry shelf.

Atsumu and Kiyoomi both rise out of their seats as Osamu approaches. He’s pulled into a rib-crushing hug by Atsumu, who mumbles incoherently. Osamu just pats his back and laughs and pretends like he’s not just as emotional. He doesn’t expect for Kiyoomi to embrace him next, just as tightly. “Thank you,” he says, voice thick, and Osamu has to bite down on his own cheek or else he might really cry before the end of the night.

.

Kiyoomi stares at the gold band on his left ring finger. Part of him is thinking how it’ll interfere with his spikes, but that’s nothing a chain can’t solve. He moves his hand just slightly so that the light catches the tiny engraved message from his now-husband:  _ Onward together. _

Atsumu’s left hand joins his, splayed over his arm so that they can admire them together. “Wow,” he muses, “Omi, ya really married me.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi breathes. “Are we really, really stupid?”

Atsumu chuckles, turning to stand directly in front of him, and threads their fingers together. “Because of how fast we got hitched or because of how much money we poured into this wedding?”

“Both.”

He hums. “Do we care?”

“Not even a little bit.” Kiyoomi leans down to kiss him swiftly, a single peck before he hears the DJ call for the ballroom’s attention.

_ “Now, please join me in welcoming - for the first time - Miya Atsumu and Miya Kiyoomi.” _

“That’s us,” Atsumu swoons as he swivels back into place and pulls him forward. Kiyoomi can’t help but smile as the room greets them again with applause and whistling.

_ “OMI!” _ comes Bokuto, Hinata, and Inunaki’s simultaneous cheer. Kiyoomi holds up a hand. As they move to the center of the dancefloor, Kiyoomi notices Suna Rintarou hovering next to the wedding filmer, gesturing at him to adjust the camera angle and zoom in. Weirdly, it’s Suna’s presence that makes things feel more ordinary for Kiyoomi. They’re just among friends and family. He can just relax and have fun and enjoy the fact that he has a  _ husband. _

The speaker clicks before their chosen song begins to play. Atsumu smiles, hands sliding up to Kiyoomi’s shoulders and pulling them closer together. Kiyoomi leads them in a slow dance as the rest of the room, maybe the rest of the world, fades away. All that he has is Atsumu between his arms, touching their foreheads and mouthing along to the lyrics.  _ Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you. _

Halfway through the song, the DJ indicates to the other couples to join in. Aran Ojiro offers an arm to Kita Shinsuke. Osamu drags Suna, unwillingly, away from the cameraman. Kiyoomi is only vaguely aware of them spinning around because Atsumu laughs happily and Kiyoomi’s utterly caught in the space that exists only between them.  _ Like a river flows surely to the sea. Darling, so it goes, some things were meant to be. _

Kiyoomi presses a soft kiss to Atsumu’s temple and another to the top of his cheeks. Atsumu’s laughter devolves into giggles.  _ Take my hand. Take my whole heart, too. _

“For I can’t help falling in love with you,” Kiyoomi finishes in Atsumu’s ear.

The song ends with Kiyoomi twirling him once, twice, and wondering if there will ever be a day he won’t fall harder for Miya Atsumu.

.

It’s not a secret that Bokuto Koutarou is an emotional person. One look at Kiyoomi twirling Atsumu and their matching smiles and rings is all it takes for him to bury his head into Akaashi’s shoulder. “They really got married,” Bokuto sobs as Akaashi pats his head. “I can’t believe this.”

“You’re going to see them in a week,” Akaashi reminds him. “Not much will change.”

“I know. I’m just  _ happy.” _

Akaashi laughs then carefully pulls away from Bokuto’s arms. He presses a light kiss to the top of his head and says, “How about I go grab us some drinks? Sounds like you could use something stronger than champagne.”

“Kay,” he sniffles then turns in his seat to watch Akaashi head towards the open bar. It takes all of two minutes for Bokuto to start missing him. He sags into the chair, glances at the dance floor, and wipes his cheeks.

“Oh, boy,” someone says behind him. “Why the tears, man?”

Bokuto looks up as Tendou Satori slides into Akaashi’s empty seat. He’s got an empty shot glass in his hand, and his tie is wrapped around his forehead. He places a heavy hand on Bokuto’s shoulder and slurs, “Cheer up! It’s a wedding!”

“I’m not  _ sad,” _ Bokuto argues. “It’s just…” He gestures towards the married couple. “They’re my best friends!”

“Oh, I see.” Tendou taps a finger on his glass. “You’re one of those types.”

“Satori,” Ushijima Wakatoshi walks up with a plate of cupcakes balanced on his palm, “I brought the desserts you wanted.”

“Thank you, Toshi.” He gestures to the empty chair on Bokuto’s other side. “Wanna sit and talk for a bit?”

Ushijima looks at the cupcakes then at Bokuto and at the cupcakes again. He moves to sit down and then slowly slides the plate towards Bokuto. “Bokuto-san,” he says sternly, “take a cupcake. Tendou sends me sweets when I am feeling down. I find the sugar helps perk me up again.”

Bokuto blinks new tears out of his eyes as he looks between Tendou and Ushijima. “I love you guys,” he cries and tears into a chocolate cupcake. “Where did Akaashi go?” he grumbles with his mouthful. “He went to get drinks like forever ago!”

Tendou and Ushijima simultaneously turn to the bar, where Akaashi is currently knocking back a shot of Fireball with Komori Motoya and Washio Tatsuki. “I’m sure the line is just long,” Tendou covers quickly. “Have another cupcake, Koutarou-kun.”

A couple minutes later, the music changes.  _ Funky Town _ blares from the DJ’s table and, all at once, Ushijima is rising out of his seat. “Oh, I am excited,” he says and gestures to the dance floor. “Should we go?”

“Huh?” Bokuto pouts at them with frosting on his lip.

“Gotta go,” Tendou says. “Hang in there, kiddo. Akaashi will be back soon.”

Bokuto watches in utter disbelief as Ushijima Wakatoshi starts dancing in short, robotic movements while Tendou sways loosely beside him. Kiyoomi spots them and a look of horror crosses his face as Ushijima bounces. He would look unenthused if not for the small smile pushing at his cheeks as Tendou dances around him.

Then, Akaashi is back at his side, staring intently at the two very full kalimotxos in either hand. “Akaashi!” Bokuto pulls on his elbow and the drink sloshes over the rim. “Where did you  _ go? _ ”

Akaashi blinks slowly. He’s a little unstable as he sits back down. “To the bar.”

Bokuto squints at Akaashi’s flushed cheeks and unfocused gaze and gasps. “You’re so drunk.”

Akaashi nods and slides the second glass to Bokuto. “And y’need to drink more.”

And, like that, Bokuto is back into his party mode. He scarfs down the last cupcake, chugs the kalimotxos, and watches in amazement as Akaashi follows suit, chugging the entire thing without stopping. “Holy shit. I love you,” is all he says when Akaashi slams the empty glass onto the table.

“Dance time,” Akaashi declares, but when he tries to stand up he nearly pitches forward. Bokuto catches him with a laugh and looks around the room. Everyone still seems to be gawking at Ushijima doing the robot as  _ Funky Town _ plays for a second time per popular request.

“Let’s stay here for a bit,” Bokuto says instead, hands on Akaashi’s shoulders. Akaashi’s head bops to the beat, probably thinking they’re shuffling onto the dance floor even now.

.

On the other side of the reception hall, Suna Rintarou is thriving. He’s missed having the national team in the same room. Where else would he get material like this; Ushijima Wakatoshi doing the worm., Bokuto Koutarou crying into a cupcake, or whatever Komori Motoya is currently setting up.

“STEP ASIDE!” he screams over the bass. “EVERYONE MAKE ROOM!” He urges people to the sides of the dancefloor, parting the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea, and then he gestures to Yaku Morisuke with a flourish.

Yaku shrugs off his suit jacket, drapes it over Komori’s waiting arms, claps twice, and then he’s on the ground. Suna has never seen someone do the worm so fluidly and passionately. Komori screams excitedly, waving Yaku’s jacket like a sports towel.  _ “That’s my wife!” _ he shouts to the bemusement of the people around him.

“Are ya live?” Osamu shouts in Suna’s ear.

Suna nods. He feels more than hears Osamu’s answering laugh. Osamu drapes an arm over Suna’s shoulder and watches the chaos unfold through Suna’s phone screen. Then, in a flash, he reaches forward and taps the camera switch button. Suna sees his own face ripple in surprise as Osamu pushes a sloppy kiss to his cheek for all his Instagram followers to see. Hundreds of people witness Suna’s face go dark red before he hurriedly switches the camera back.

Yaku is back on two feet, hands on his hips as Komori, Atsumu, and Hinata pretend to bow at his feet. Then, Hirugami Sachirou walks into the vacant space with a hand raised. “A challenger approaches!” he declares and extends a hand to Hoshiumi Kourai.

“Hoshiumi-kun!” Hinata screams excitedly.

Hoshiumi lifts his arms to the side in a T-pose. Then, he bounces his upper body up and down, arms flapping like wings, in a perfect rendition of TWICE’s eagle dance. The crowd, and Suna’s Instagram viewers, goes insane. Suna gains followers by the dozens and smirks.

Yaku watches Hoshiumi flap with a disinterested look. When Hoshiumi stops, dizzily bumping back into Hirugami, Yaku whispers to Komori, who whispers to Hinata, who whispers to Osamu, who nods and turns to the DJ. A moment later, the song switches to Britney Spears’  _ Toxic. _

What follows would become a legendary story among the Japan V.League known as the worm versus the eagle.

Suna laughs until his sides ache when Atsumu and Kiyoomi return from the bar to see Yaku and Hoshiumi dancing toe-to-toe. He zooms in on their expressions. Atsumu lights up and holds up his drink like he’s watching a Gladiator match. Kiyoomi’s mouth twitches. He tucks his face into Atsumu’s hair in an attempt to hide his humor. More than anything, Suna is glad they’re enjoying themselves.

Next to him, Osamu tugs on his sleeve. He points to his empty cup then the bar. Suna nods, goes offline, and then follows Osamu away from the dancefloor. The music isn’t as deafening on this side of the hall, but Suna rushes through their orders and then guides them to the balcony anyways. The night is cool and relieving after a long day filled with equal parts stress and fun.

Osamu sighs, collapsing in a chair and loosening his collar. “What a night…”

“Yeah.” Suna takes the seat next to him. He pats Osamu’s thigh. “You planned a good wedding.”

Osamu snorts. “Yer the one who planned it more than me. I just made sure Atsumu put his feet in the right shoes this morning.” He groans. “He was a wreck last night, though. I hadn’t spent the night with him in years. It was like we were back in high school.”

“Kiyoomi wasn’t much better,” Suna says. “He said more to me in fifteen minutes than I’ve heard him say in years. On and on about whether or not they were ready, or if Atsumu was going to regret marrying him.”

“They’re a mess,” Osamu agrees. “Let’s never end up like them.”

Suna laughs and threads their fingers together. He trails his thumb across Osamu’s ring finger. “I wouldn’t mind being a  _ little _ more like them.”

Osamu looks up. “Yeah?”

Suna shrugs. “Yeah. One day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Osamu says, trying to sound cool, but Suna can see the blush high on his cheeks. “Yep.”

Suna laughs, clinks their glasses together, and takes a drink. They exist for themselves, just for a few more minutes, watching the cars pass the grand hotel and lost to their own thoughts. Then, they hear a loud crash followed by even louder laughter. Osamu winces. “That’s my cue,” he groans and stands. “I put way too much time into this party to let it go down in flames now.”

Suna rises as well, throwing an arm around Osamu’s shoulders. “I don’t think you need to worry. Sounds like Yaku and Hoshiumi’s dance-off just ended.”

Sure enough, when they get back inside, they see Yaku and Hoshiumi hugging like they’re long lost brothers. Komori and Hirugami watch fondly, shaking their heads and talking to each other, words lost to the music. Atsumu spots them, whispers to Kiyoomi, and then approaches them.

“Shots,” he declares. “Then dance. Both of ya. It’s my wedding, and I’m gonna dance with my brothers.”

“Not legally a Miya,” Suna reminds him, not for the first time.

“Semantics,” Atsumu replies, not for the first time.

As they head back to the bar, they pass Aran and Kita sitting quietly at a table with Kita’s grandmother. She’d been officially invited, but ultimately arrived as Aran’s plus one. “Won’t be long now,” she says as she pats Kita’s hand, “until I get to see Ojiro-kun and you up there.”

Kita just sips his drink and Aran laughs. “Shin just has to say yes, granny.”

“You guys,” Kita mutters. He spots Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna passing by, and immediately pushes out of his chair. “Excuse me, granny, but I need to give my regards to the groom properly.”

Aran glances at him with a knowing grin. “In that case, I should go, too.”

Kita’s grandmother nods. “Give them my best for me.”

“Kita!” Atsumu greets as they walk up to the bar. “Where have ya been hidin’ this whole time?”

“Sorry, Atsumu. Congratulations, by the way. Granny’s enjoying herself.”

“Oh?” Atsumu lights up. “I need to go say hello. I haven’t seen her since high school.”

“Are we doing shots?” Kita plucks a shot glass right out of Suna’s hand. “Wonderful.”

“Two more please,” Aran tells the bartender and claps Suna on the back.

“Four,” another voice corrects.

“Akagi! Gin!” Atsumu cheers. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Akagi tells him earnestly. “Still, I can’t believe yer the first of us to get married. And to  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi.” _

“Miya Kiyoomi,” Atsumu amends. Then, he smiles at the small crowd around him. “Yanno, I think this is the first time this many of us Inarizaki alum have been in the same place since second year.”

“We should toast,” Osamu interjects. “To Atsumu and Sakusa, but also to Inarizaki. And to some memories we’ll hold onto.”

Kita, Aran, Akagi, Gin, Suna, Osamu, Atsumu, and Suna raise their shots with a resounding cheer then take it. “Ew,” Gin gags, “who chose Fireball?”

Osamu and Atsumu point at each other.

.

Kiyoomi doesn’t remember much between the ceremony and the reception, just the sensation of being suspended in his own happiness, like the ground was suddenly made of clouds and he was drifting through the air with nothing tying him down but the weight of Atsumu’s hand in his.

The party is winding down. Atsumu finally abandons the dancefloor, laughing with an arm around Osamu and the other around Suna. Kiyoomi watches them fondly, realizing with a grin that Osamu and Suna are actually keeping Atsumu balanced. He’s far too drunk and tired for his legs to be fully operational, but Atsumu has two very protective brothers keeping him on his feet.

“Omi,” Osamu calls as they approach, “take yer husband.”

“If I must,” Kiyoomi teases, but he’s tipsy and happy so it doesn’t bother him that Atsumu is sweaty and smells of champagne.

Atsumu’s full weight is still hard to handle, especially when Kiyoomi isn’t exactly steady on his feet either, but Atsumu manages to correct himself a bit. “Omi-Omi,” he sings into Kiyoomi’s neck, “missed ya.”

“We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together,” Kiyoomi says, “and you’re whining about five minutes?”

“That’s right,” Atsumu affirms.

“You guys should call it a night,” Suna says. “Osamu and I can finish up here. And don’t worry, Kiyoomi. We’ve got Atsumu’s key so we’ll keep an eye on your place while you’re off honeymooning.”

“Italy!” Atsumu cheers. “Good thing Hinata taught me some Spanish.”

Suna fixes Kiyoomi with an exasperated look. “That’s your husband.”

Kiyoomi laughs. “I know.” He tugs Atsumu along. “Come on. Let’s say goodbye.”

“Au revoir!” Atsumu waves and Kiyoomi struggles to keep them both upright.

The few guests that remain are either raiding the dessert tables or biding their time until their Lyfts arrive. Kageyama is collapsed over a table, snoring into a napkin, as Hinata finishes his plate of cake, swaying lightly in his chair as the final songs play for the evening. Bokuto and Akaashi slow dancing to their own rhythm. They make their rounds, saying farewell and accepting hugs and congratulations. Osamu and Suna waddle over to the gift table and start tearing it down. Kiyoomi reminds himself, again, that his new brother-in-laws deserve a very nice gift. At the very least, he hopes Atsumu and he can return the favor when it’s their wedding.

“Let me grab our coats,” Kiyoomi says. “I’m more sober than you.”

“Wait!” Atsumu grabs his arm and pulls him back. “Come to the dessert table with me one more time.”

“I’ve already had more cake tonight than I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Not cake. Just come.”

Kiyoomi smiles at Atsumu, his new husband, and marvels that he’s never going to be able to say no to him. Not because he wants to spoil Atsumu, but because he trusts Atsumu enough to know that he’d never steer them wrong. “Okay.”

On the smallest table, there’s a small platter stacked with a familiar treat. “Twinkies,” Kiyoomi muses.

“Eat one with me?”

Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu closer, pushes a kiss to Atsumu’s forehead, and says, “Of course.”

When he bites into the Twinkie, it’s overly sweet and rather underwhelming. By no means is it delicious or worth the extra calories, but he watches Atsumu take a bite and laugh at the piece that falls off. He laughs harder when he spots the cream on Kiyoomi’s cheek, wiping it away with his thumb.

_ Oh, _ Kiyoomi thinks as he takes another bite.  _ I’d marry you all over again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I would like to apologize for how long it's been since I updated this!! Thank you for your patience, I appreciate it sm!! <3
> 
> Secondly, happy Sakuatsu Fluff Week!! This was written with Day 6's 'wedding' prompt in mind. Check out their twitter for more soft sakuatsu content ;w;


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